Big Apple for the wedding, big game for the honeymoon

African elephants at a waterhole. 'Elephants are always bigger, stranger, older looking than I remember: built like a bus, the trunk supple and deft, the eyes following you like those of a portrait,' says David Smith. Photograph: John Hrusa/EPA/Corbis

The entrance of the bride, wearing white, beside her father ... the speaking of vows, the swapping of rings, the kiss that shouldn't be too long or too short ... the dizzying exit to the strains of Pata Pata by Miriam Makeba ... then a walk in Central Park, in our full wedding regalia, with strangers looking up sharply as if caught in a torchlight, staring, smiling and shouting congratulations.

Last month, I got married in New York. The whole family was there, and so was Zimbabwe president Robert Mugabe.

Well, in town for a UN summit, he was reportedly spotted a few blocks away shopping at a chemist – in the lipstick aisle.

After an American wedding, and a very long journey, and a lot of sleep, there came an African honeymoon.

Mrs Smith and I were guests of the Phinda Vlei lodge in South Africa's KwaZulu-Natal province. The &Beyond Phinda game reserve is a favourite among wealthy Americans, conscientious ecotourists and anyone who wants to combine remote bush with a hot bath.

Phinda Vlei has six secluded cottages: imagine transplanting a luxury hotel room deep into the wild.

Thatched roof, dark wood panels, ceiling fan, wicker chairs, viewing deck with plunge pool, linen curtains draped over a four poster bed – from which I could gaze out at exotic birds, giraffes, impala and nyala.

Just don't go out at night without calling a security guard. Eighteen years ago a German visitor did, so they say, and got eaten by a lion.

This bracing juxtaposition of creatures and comfort applies equally at mealtime, usually in the main lodge. At breakfast each day a sudden clatter of crockery and a blur of grey fur means only one thing: the monkeys have struck again.

They patrol the area furtively, doubtless in a well-honed group strategy, then leap into action and snatch a slice of papaya or pineapple from someone's tray.

This triggers the Phinda defence shield: a staff member dashes out with a catapult and fires at will, usually a blank, but enough to scare the raiders off. Until the next morning, anyway.

One day the idea of getting up for a game drive didn't appeal to me, and not only because it was 5.30am. I had a strain in my lower back and moved like a centenarian. "You hurt your back on honeymoon?" a fellow guest said drily. "You'll get some jokes about that."

Frustrated, I slumped in a chair on the main terrace, but fortunately this is a place where the animals come to you.

As I gazed out on the wetland meadow, a warthog and its offspring trotted past. A little later came a zebra crossing – in fact seven zebras, quiet, unhurried, dainty.

The coup de theatre was an elephant, up close, very close, as close as is possible while keeping it at trunk's length.

Elephants are always bigger, stranger, older looking than I remember: built like a bus, the trunk supple and deft, the eyes following you like those of a portrait. How imperial and indifferent to us. This one brushed against the terrace as it trampled a tree and munched the leaves.

We sat tight until it moved on and it was safe to walk.

I did manage some game drives too, with highlights including a cheetah family, rhinos on the run and the unearthly shriek of a male lion mating with a female. Among our group was an Australian photographer working on a book called Butts of Africa. She hit the jackpot with an elephant rear as big as the Ritz.

Safaris are good at creating the impression you're an explorer of virgin territory, peering into nature raw and pure, unlike the soiled artifice of a zoo. But of course it's all showbusiness.

The guides at Phinda know the terrain well and radio each other with updates on where to find the star turns. The number of lions is strictly controlled so they don't upset the ecosystem. But there's enough unpredictability to hold a sense of adventure.

That included our guide, Sam, who walked over to a pile of rhino dung and stuck his finger into it. He proceeded to suck on his finger thoughtfully and pronounce it tasted like grass. It was, of course, a different finger.

But Sam recalled how one time when he played the trick, an overenthusiastic visitor copied him and tasted the deposit for real.

Phinda does things with some romantic style. Under the night sky, so clear that we could see the Milky Way and the arc of passing satellites, we were taken to a remote clearing where champagne glasses with name tags were hanging from tree branches.

Another night, a surprise candlelit dinner awaited in the forest beside the crackles of an open campfire.

One guest found the buffet had run out of lamb ribs. So the following night, in an unexpected gesture, the kitchen prepared lamb ribs especially for her. This was typical of some microscopic attention to the details of good service.

Over another excellent dinner – Johannesburg restaurants should look and learn – I mused upon the safari industry. Here we were, rich Europeans and Americans, jetting into Africa to see wonders that few urban Africans ever witness.

Is this a colonial legacy, the dispossession of the hunter and the privatisation of nature? On the other hand, in 2010, don't we think national parks, species preservation and laws against poachers are a good idea?

The &Beyond group has a particular pitch. Twenty years ago, it says, Phinda was mismanaged and derelict farmland, but its 23,000 hectares [56,800 acres] have since been restored and restocked with wild animals including the "Big Five" [buffalo, elephant, leopard, lion and rhinoceros].

In 2007 its ancestral owners, who had been forced off the land during apartheid, had 9,500 hectares [23,475 acres] returned to them. &Beyond says it has paid big money upfront towards future joint ventures and community empowerment projects, with much emphasis on conservation.

Some local people work at Vlei lodge, one of several within Phinda, which means "the return" in Zulu. One lady was called Precious, another Happiness. They explained the Zulu translations, which were more lyrical. I asked them to choose a name for the new Mrs Smith.